


to think we could stay the same.

by manberg



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Descriptions of overdosing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, L'manburg Era, Paranoia, Pre-L'manberg election, References to Depression, not graphic depiction of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manberg/pseuds/manberg
Summary: In the darkness of the room illuminated only by pale moonlight trickling through the large windows behind him, Wilbur leaned his head back to stare up into the abyss of the ceiling; the look of a tired, worn down man now became a staple piece for him, something he was unable to rid himself of. That’s what he was now, really, and who could blame him? The wars, the fighting, the betrayals, it all had to catch up to him somehow.Wilbur reflects on the events leading up to the election.
Kudos: 3





	to think we could stay the same.

**Author's Note:**

> first time posting for the d!smp tag [eyes]
> 
> uhhh this is kind of depressing? or very depressing actually. all in d!smp character dw, i'm not writing abt the real wilbur.  
> tws for suicide, overdose, self-loathing, anything in the tags basically.

Silence was an unforgiving presence that filled the office with an overwhelming emptiness, one that made your blood ring in your ears and had your heartbeat echoing off the walls till it became maddeningly repetitive. At some point, Wilbur had been fond of repetition; doing his daily duties as the self-elected president of his nation, greeting his people & fellow cabinet members, seeing to the finer things and knowing in his heart that everything was running as smoothly as it could.

Wasn’t it just heaven? Waking up, knowing people would be waiting to see him, have his presence near them and be in that same presence of prestige and honor. He was valued, loved, and for a while he couldn’t ask for more. To be honest, he still couldn’t. All his work had gone into this, into building up relationships and a kingdom to match where he could live out his days and watch the young around him grow old just as he did. With fine, resilient men by his side & even stronger women, it was something out of a fairy-tale.

And then he’d ruined it, for everyone, for himself. 

An election. That’s what set it off - well, what set him off. No person in L’manburg had been as in their head about it all as Wilbur had, and it had been his idea in the first place. 

It was all about fairness, about making it seem fair even though his and Tommy’s plan was etched into the background for only their eyes to notice. When they won, it would be like nothing had changed, except now Wilbur had a title that not even Dream could repute or use against him. This would be his country officially, as well as Tommy’s. It would be all he’d wanted and more, every trial and tribulation and backstabbing friend and injury and failure and so much more would come to fruition and finally become something.

Tomorrow, that’s when it will happen. Of course, even he could admit there’d still be some problems afterwards, but he’d deal with it like a president instead of a squabbling man trying to make himself into something he isn’t.

In the darkness of the room illuminated only by pale moonlight trickling through the large windows behind him, Wilbur leaned his head back to stare up into the abyss of the ceiling; the look of a tired, worn down man now became a staple piece for him, something he was unable to rid himself of. That’s what he was now, really, and who could blame him? The wars, the fighting, the betrayals, it all had to catch up to him somehow.

Wilbur knew it would, could feel it in his system ever since he first made a mark for himself on the server, but to hit in this way at this time had him a mess both mentally and physically in the way he presented himself. It had been creeping up for days now; lack of energy turned into exhaustion, turning into sleepless nights that led to his appearance disheveling and his mental state declining, which in turn led to more snappy interactions & soon enough a complete withdrawal from everything. 

Tommy had become worried before everyone else, of course. The coming days were extremely important to him and even more important was the man who he was running with, the same man who he hadn’t seen for days now save for glimpses in the windows or when he would walk around aimlessly at night with no purpose - almost as if he was trying to find said purpose in those walks, before disappearing once more & refusing to come out because of ‘duties’ and ‘important work’. Sometimes it was neither. Sometimes it was just pure silence.

He didn’t know which was better; Tommy begging at his door - sometimes swearing, sometimes pleading - and staying until he finally gave up, or the relentless nothingness that already entombed him where he sat right now. It didn’t matter which one it was, because both were sharp and poised ready to hit him right where it hurt. Deep in his heart or at the pit of his gut, both were enough to hollow him out and leave him more isolated than he could fully comprehend. He couldn’t even remember the last time Tommy had visited him. Maybe it was today, maybe it was yesterday. It all felt like such a blur that it gave him a headache, a nauseating one at that, or maybe the sickness was caused by something else.

Sickening guilt, perhaps. Guilt at abandoning his cause right at the finish line, leaving behind his friends, a family, a brother who would die for him before he even had to say anything. It felt weird to think of it like that. He wasn’t going anywhere, was he? Wilbur could very well show up tomorrow with a pep in his step and a determination unlike anything he’d felt in his life, ready to win for real & head into his future knowing he had the power of a nation behind him. A new lease of life, just waiting for him in the next few hours to come. All he had to do was wait.

But Wilbur knew it wouldn’t come. The hours seemed to drag on, an agonizingly slow crawl of the clock and the seconds to match, taunting him by drawing themselves slower and slower around the face as he was left to miserably ponder his own existence and everything leading up to it - and the bleak future ahead.

It was nice to live in ignorant bliss day-dreaming about a beautiful bright tomorrow that would change his life for good, but it was just that at the end of the day. Ignorant bliss. An unreal expectation for what he knew in his heart and the paranoia that swallowed him whole. Like he could just sense it happening; his own demise at the hands of himself, dragging everyone down with him in such a poetic contrast to his election win. The idea that he’d go out on his terms rather than at someone else's gain felt so familiar, so distant in the future yet it pained him. Death wasn’t necessarily scary, but the feeling of just knowing how it would happen, that it’s there and waiting for you no matter how long it takes. It’s haunting, and it stuck with Wilbur like a phantom to the empty halls of a centuries old mansion. Soon his time would come, and it’d be on his hands; his own downfall, his faults & his issues & his inability to change becoming his demise, leaving behind a legacy to someone barely coming out of their teens.

The pressure of it all was double that of the coming election. It made his chest feel tight, tears pricking his eyes and stinging the raw & almost bloodshot sockets as they ran down his face; yet he made no move to wipe them away, and continued to stare up at the ceiling with his hands in his lap and the world right behind him, sleeping soundly as he drifted further and further into his own world.

Further into an empty haven, a lightheaded haze taking hold of his skull that felt heavy and fuzzy beyond comprehension. Moving felt like such a chore, every limb and muscle weighed down by what felt like cement and the pressure of everyone's trust in him. The world around felt like a mere dream that he could barely make sense of while the shapes on the ceiling began to take form, swirling objects in a pitch-black scene that had no logical pattern or sense. In the midst of it all was pain; sharp, aching, but he opted to ignore it. For once, it came so easy. He didn’t have to focus on anything because he barely could. It was nice. It was bliss.

Sooner or later, they’d find out. Missing potions from the chests, concoctions designed for purposes beyond what he’d used them for. The bitter taste still lingered in his throat, but you get used to it soon enough. It wouldn’t matter much soon. He was supposed to be something, he still had time to be something. The thing they all thought of him as; their leader. But what must a leader do when that title no longer fits? When it feels like merely a word rather than something to live up to and achieve? 

It’s a strange feeling. Having your place in the world fade away. It’s not scary, or painful, just...eerie. Like an odd calmness that feels out of place in a life filled with such anger, hatred, fighting, stress, among other calamities that no longer tore him to pieces on the inside and tortured his mind with what could’ve been. They didn’t matter, nor did the impending dread of what would follow once it all went away. He couldn’t remember if it had even bothered him.

Wilbur didn’t know the answer, and he never would.   
  
As he felt himself go limp and his head tilted back just enough to watch the awe inspiring blur of orange yellow that was the sunset come rising over the new day, he decided he was content with that.


End file.
